My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 104

Fenris

"You cannot go in there, Alpha Volkov."

Captain Elias stood squarely in front of the heavy oak door leading into the healing ward. His silver breastplate caught the dim light from the wall torches. Two of his Valdris guards flanked him, their hands resting nervously on the pommels of their swords.

I didn't stop walking. My boots hit the stone floor with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

"Step aside, Elias," I said.

"Lord Torin is the designated envoy of King Aldric," Elias stated, his voice tight. He raised his chin, trying to project authority he didn't actually hold. "He was the victim of a brutal, unprovoked assault. Southern law dictates that he be given absolute privacy and protection until a formal inquiry can be made."

I stopped two feet away from him. I looked down at the Valdris captain. He was a trained soldier, but he smelled like stale sweat and sheer panic.

"You are standing in my mountain," I told him, keeping my voice completely level. "There is no southern law here. There is only my law. Now move your men."

Elias swallowed hard. His throat clicked audibly in the quiet corridor. He didn't move. He thought his polished armor and his King's name acted as a physical shield.

I didn't argue with him. I reached out, grabbed the thick leather strap crossing his silver breastplate, and ripped him out of my way.

Elias stumbled hard, his boots sliding wildly on the stone. He crashed into the wall to his left. The two guards beside him flinched, instinctively drawing their swords halfway out of their scabbards. The sharp scrape of steel echoed loudly.

I turned my head and looked at them. I didn't bare my teeth. I didn't raise my voice. I just stared at the younger guard's eyes until he realized exactly what he was doing. He was drawing a weapon on an Ironmaw Alpha inside his own keep.

The guard’s hands started to shake. He shoved the blade back down into the scabbard. The other guard quickly followed suit. They pressed their backs against the stone wall, leaving the door completely clear.

I pushed the iron latch down and walked into the ward.

The room smelled sharply of crushed willow bark, raw alcohol, and fresh blood.

Torin sat on the edge of a narrow wooden cot. He held a blood-soaked rag to his face. Garek, my oldest healer, was standing over him with a pair of long iron forceps and a bowl of steaming water.

Torin let out a muffled, nasal whine as Garek touched his face.

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